


Words Unsaid

by x_x



Category: Generator Rex
Genre: M/M, Sex, some spanking and bollock pain tacked on at the end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-02
Updated: 2019-07-02
Packaged: 2020-06-02 21:35:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19449949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/x_x/pseuds/x_x
Summary: Rex uses a detail of Moss and Circe's relationship to gauge his own with Gatlocke.





	Words Unsaid

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wonker8](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wonker8/gifts).



> this is for my lovely who was here for this ship even when I was absent-- moon of my life, my one sole ever-supporter, who makes me feel like i can take on the world.... wonker8.

Ironically, what happens is not one bit Gatlocke's fault. One can say Circe and Moss are the primary trigger for it all in the first place. Although, to be fair, Rex is set at the head of the whole conflict, cocking the gun.

He and Circe are out one night, assigned to a stake-out. It's the two of them, so it's filled with muffled laughter as they bicker and tease one another about things from the past. They should be taking the job more seriously, but work has been quite slow, conditioning them to become quite lax.

Tonight, they track a low-threat, low-reward bounty head, partially because there's nothing else to do and White just wants them out of his hair, and partially because the small fry may lead to a more lucrative catch since there's been talk in the underground about recent associations between the two. The latter, however, is merely theory and hearsay, and doesn't hold much weight considering these two criminals have no prior history of working with one another.

With Circe stirring constant banter with him, Rex honestly can't even remember their names. He had peered through the file earlier that day, got the gist of the objective, and has respectively called them Smaller Baller and Biggins in his mind ever since. But even that is gone in the midst of Circe's nuanced glances and deadpanned remarks-- and one would assume her negatively spun speech is genuine, if not for the faintest smiles that punctuate every delivered line.

Rex had forgotten what a kick it is when they team up. She's grown into herself, and Rex is relieved she hasn't left him behind in the wake of her becoming such a cool freaking person.

There's a new guy in her life at this point, and Rex is still surprised at how casually compatible Moss and Circe are. Perhaps it's because their laid-back relationship contrasts so sharply with the constant adrenaline pulsing through his and Gatlocke's dating life.

He spies obnoxiously over her shoulder as she texts Moss, since absolutely fuck-all is going on at the warehouse they're supposed to be watching.

And that's when three words catch his eye. "Whoa, you guys actually hit the 'I love you' stage?" It's a foreign concept to him. He's never said it to his brother, or anyone at Providence. Never even to Circe, now that he thinks about it, even though they do love each other. And he wonders if that was the first sign the two of them weren't meant to be. And the next thing that comes to mind is how his current relationship is similar in that regard.

"What, you and Gatlocke haven't?" Circe rolls her eyes with the barest hint of a smirk, the kind that implies, _of course you do, you'd have to by now_ , since after all, Gatlocke and Rex were an item long before Circe got involved with Moss.

However, it's the very implication that drives the knife deeper, the knife that counters with _actually, we've never, not once, not ever_. The beat of silence that follows is enough that Circe stops her pace to look over her shoulder again, reminding Rex that he hasn't yet said anything.

"No," he admits aloud, and doesn't know what else to say after that.

"Oh." There's a brief pause as Circe takes in the surprise. But it's over in a second, and she's passing it off as a mistake of her own quite fluidly, even punctuating with a shrug. "Duh, like you guys were ever conventional."

Still, the damage is done. And since nothing else happens during the stake-out, Rex is left wondering.

Gatlocke has never said outright that he loves him, but then, as Rex reasons, an opportunity for it has never come up. They have other things in their hands that keep them busy-- since White had found it's better to keep the two of them active lest they wreak havoc from boredom. Between work and bouts of sex, they speak in snarky banter and rough-housing. In the midst of all that, mushy sentiments didn't have much landing space.

It's not that Gatlocke isn't one for words. He never stops talking, even now as he fucks Rex in their shower.

"--never want to stop rutting into this tight, lewd, easy hole and all I have to do is push you down to get you hard and leaking--"

" _Nngh_ ," Rex replies, and almost slips for the third time as Gatlocke's sliding hand finally reaches his cock; it had been wandering over every wet inch of him thus far and Rex's breath hitches as fingers roll patterns along the ridge of his dick head.

He's about to come, even with Gatlocke going as slow as he is, and perhaps especially because of it. The shower is probably the only place that Gatlocke ever really takes it slow, since the one time he hadn't resulted in injury upon both of them, and not the fun kind, either.

By this time, they've gotten it down pat. Rex strains against the wall handles and cries out as he jerks and his dick spits white against the tile. Gatlocke bites down on his shoulder and finishes as well, a moan low in his throat and stark in Rex's ear-- by now, it's the expected spiced aftertaste to Rex's own orgasm and Rex melts into it, as Gatlocke melds into him.

In the afterglow of warmth and lethargy, Gatlocke kisses him once they aren't leaning heavily and can stand straight to face each other again. It's a soft, lazy kiss, and Rex opens his eyes to a fond, steady, and uncharacteristically quiet gaze from Gatlocke. Rex wonders if he ever thinks it.

He pictures him saying it. A simple _I love you_. And his chest feels light at the thought.

What he gets in reality is a metal hand ruffling through his wet hair, like one would do to a pet or a child. And for some reason, though he's always favored the gesture before, it kind of hurts.

"I'm gonna wait it out," he finalizes one day, after two were spent agonized over the subject. "I'll drop hints, and see if he takes the bait. And if he doesn't, then I guess…" He swallows. "…he just doesn't."

He can hear Circe sighing, over the crinkle of book pages from where she sits on the other end of the bed that she and Moss share, and he's set in his plan of action.

He thinks it should work.

Circe never responds to him; possibly, she knows he won't listen anyway.

This time, it's Gatlocke paired with him for recon. Same intended marks, same location. To Rex's chagrin, however, they're to keep separate as Gatlocke is supposed to observe security on the west end of the building. Rex is stuck taking notes on the east. He'd been hoping for a face-to-face opportunity tonight since they'd spent the day apart, but no dice. So he gives up romantic tactics for now and instead picks out the patterns in the hired hands on enemy patrol.

There's actually a larger crowd speckled along the property than he'd expected, the number inclining the rich hand of Biggins in this. Patrols along the outer south west block. Two guards per double door. Patrols watching from key vantage points along the roof where Rex and Gatlocke are slipping between shadows and hostiles. The windows of the facility are all tinted, painted over black, or otherwise obscured so that one can't peer in from the outside. But there are moving silhouettes beyond the glass.

Rex and Circe hadn't been close enough for Rex to notice the windows before-- they'd been placed down the road to eye the main entrance of the warehouse and incoming and outgoing traffic at the time.

On top of all this, earlier on tonight, there was an expensive, but tacky car had been pulling away from the warehouse when Gatlocke and Rex had arrived, the style typical of Smaller Baller, but they were unable to confirm a face.

Interesting developments. But in the end, it's still only night time recon, and nothing exciting has happened. Rex finds himself rubbing his eyes again.

Luckily, Gatlocke is as active a conversational partner as ever over comm link. And it's apparent he takes the job about as seriously as Rex does.

-"Shrimp,"- says Gatlocke.

"Platypus," says Rex.

-"Snake."-

"Eel."

-"Leopard."-

"Dolphin."

-"Narwhal."-

"Bam! I win."

-"What--"- Gatlocke interrupts himself and then in an instant goes totally silent, and Rex can easily picture him ducking back into shadows as a patrol walks by. The guard seems to pass after a few minutes, and Gatlocke is back on the wire. -"What do you mean you win?"-

"I already said narwhal when you said lion," Rex gloats. They'd been playing this game for the better part of the last forty-five minutes.

After a pause for recollection, Gatlocke concedes. -"So you did. And what reward will you collect?"-

The lilt in his voice indicates intention to guide the conversation southward, as per usual. But a different thought passes through Rex's head. And although he's smack dab in the middle of armed and trained professionals who won't hesitate to take him down, this is the first time in the night that he experiences some anxiety.

"I'm gonna to ask you something." Rex tries to keep his voice even and casual. "And you have to answer. And be honest when you do."

-"Have I ever lied to you?"- Gatlocke admonishes. Immediately, he backtracks. -"Not counting when we were still enemies, of course, since that was-- well, it was given, you know, with us being nemeses. But the current me would never-- at least not without good reason-- er.... Shoot."-

"If you could say how much you liked something, how would you say so?" He's not sure how to word it and that much is apparent when it's finally out. He blushes awkwardly, wondering if Gatlocke will openly tease him on it.

But Gatlocke just smacks his lips thoughtfully into the mic. For a moment, Rex fears Gatlocke knows exactly what Rex is angling towards, and that he might call him out for it right there. But then, Gatlocke speaks.

-"Suppose I were to _really_ like something, I wouldn't even bother with words. I'd likely just be out doing it."-

Accurate. At the very least, Rex is certain that Gatlocke really-likes him, and to that point, Gatlocke _is_ doing him. But it's not the answer he's looking for.

Before he can clarify the question, a patrol just misses him in passing and he pushes his back as flat against a nearby chimney vent as he can, holding his breath. The guard pauses, surveys the stretch of roof briefly, and thankfully doesn't look Rex's way as he turns back to go the way he came.

Meanwhile, Gatlocke is singing on the radio. -"Rexy is so sexy, ambidexy, and he's Mexi~"-

"Let's say it's not an activity," Rex presses, bringing the topic back once the guard is far enough away. "Let's say it's, uh...tangible."

A lazy smile is apparent in Gatlocke's voice. -"Like money?"-

"Like-- a person."

-"Ooh."-

There's a noise above him. Rex glances up just as a black shape drops down and lands right in front of him. Suddenly, Gatlocke is right there, leaning in close so that their noses brush.

"Like you?" A dark chuckle. Gatlocke's hand curls around his waist and pulls him in while the other weaves with Rex's fingers; they're posed to dance, but the look on Gatlocke's face is anything but as innocuous. "Are you so impatient that you can't wait 'til we're back at HQ?"

"No, it's-- not that," Rex stammers as blood rushes to his face and groin. He tries to keep in mind that there are hostiles surrounding them and they still haven't finished scaling the outside areas much less gotten any information regarding the inside of the warehouse. "Anyway, we gotta, um…the _mission_."

A long sigh, like a balloon deflating. "Boo." Gatlocke's backing down immediately. The air that comes between them feels especially cold as Gatlocke begins moving away. "Then quit saying such distracting things, 'fore I pounce you here and now."

"But--" And Rex quickly cuts himself off. _But do you love me?_

The sound is still audible, however. It doesn't miss Gatlocke's earshot. He turns back, frowning.

"Rexy," and strangely, his voice sounds kind. His eyes remain piercing as ever, though-- as if he were trying to discern an explanation by himself in case he receives none. He approaches once more. "Is there something particular on your mind?"

But Rex had never been as good with words as he has with his fists, and all of everything that he's fretting over seems awfully stupid and minuscule now anyway. Small things like verbal tells just don't appear to fit into their foundation of brawls, sharp retorts, and uninhibited sex. Rex wants to accept this. He wants to have Gatlocke with him if this is the only thing that comes of it, wants to not push him away. But now emerged are other wants he didn't realize he had, and these are beginning to overwhelm what used to be enough for him.

Even inside his own head, it feels overbearing and almost clingy to bring up.

"Just the usual stuff." It's not really a lie. And yet, Rex is still looking anywhere besides Gatlocke's face.

"That so?"

Steel fingers on his chin, forcing his gaze up. Gatlocke's other hand is tugging at the front belt loops of Rex's pants, pulling him none-too-gently forward. Rex's breath hitches as the hand slides down underneath denim and begins to press and palm him through the soft fabric of his boxers, finding the slight erection he'd been keeping and coaxing it harder.

Gatlocke's voice is low, guttural as he watches Rex shift in his grasp. "Same."

It isn't exactly what Rex is pining for, but it's a sharp mouth to his, hard hands bruising his skin, and Gatlocke on him like he's claiming him, like this primal need surpasses any and all other ones, like he's been itching for it all day. It's two lubed fingers up his ass, because Gatlocke is a damned freak who of course is prepared for sex at any time any place.

But Rex is no better when he falls against him earnestly, panting hard into his shirt and arching his spine to catch the hand motions just right.

Gatlocke is akin to rain, predictable to an extent and yet still capable of startlingly exceeding what was expected, pelting down at Rex like there's no chance of stopping anytime soon, flooding out all else and drowning him.

And it's impossible to fight that kind of current.

Rex's trousers fall to his ankles. The elastic band of his boxers is shoved down to his thighs. Then, he's being turned around, pinned to the ventilation chimney and keen for what happens next. The only warning Rex has is the wetted head of Gatlocke's cock against his asshole before it's pushing into him.

He cries out and finds Gatlocke's hand clasping over his mouth.

"Shhh," Gatlocke says, but he's snickering as he runs teeth down the side of Rex's neck. "Shhh," he says, but he starts fucking Rex with deep, circular jerks.

It's the absolute worst idea, Rex realizes only when he's struggling to keep his voice down. His conflict seems to only encourage Gatlocke, who's pulling his hair and sucking on his ear. He tries to angle himself to slow Gatlocke down, tries to shift Gatlocke off rhythm with his shoulders-- sure he wants nothing more than to ride it out, come hard, and vocalize all of it, but this isn't the place. Gatlocke, of course, doesn't take his cues.

And then, footsteps.

Rex glimpses a patrol strolling into view seconds before Gatlocke spins them around the corner of the ventilation shaft. The patrol is speaking with someone via radio and, in distraction to whatever his conversation partner is saying, lingers still for a while.

Gatlocke hasn't moved since the guard approached, so Rex thinks he has a breather, some time to collect himself. He doesn't think much of Gatlocke's hand rummaging pockets until it reemerges into his view, shiny with lube pooled in the dented center of his palm.

Cursing Gatlocke silently, Rex shuts his eyes and bites his lip even before the hand presses fast to the underside of his cock, slathering it, kneading into it.

Rex's feet turn inward and he bites his lip harder trying to contain himself-- he can still hear the casual chatter of the guard not too far away.

Gatlocke nudges their heads together, and Rex turns toward him for another kiss. Gatlocke takes him in, teeth to lip, tongue to tongue, mouth hot and frenzied upon Rex's and it makes the moment even worse (better). Rex finds himself grinding against the curve of palm and in doing so, ends up fucking himself on Gatlocke's cock with the same movement.

Behind him, Gatlocke's breath hitches and he bites down hard on the patch of skin exposed between Rex's neck and shoulder.

Rex cries out sharply, but they're lucky; the noise is overtaken by the guard's sudden loud sneeze. Even luckier, the sound of footsteps again-- the guard is finally walking away.

The moment they're completely out of earshot, Gatlocke turns them around so that Rex is pinned up against the chimney again. He starts jacking Rex off properly and Rex feels his knees give. He'd be on the ground if not for Gatlocke's arms supporting him, Gatlocke's weight pressing him to the wall as his hips gain momentum once more.

"Shall I stop?" Gatlocke whispers, while showing no inclination of doing so.

Rex opens his mouth and all that comes out is a panted whimper. He wants to say yes, but he's painfully close now-- the fingers on his dick do a wicked swiveling motion around the tip and he trembles. He shakes his head unsteadily.

"Rexy…," Gatlocke hisses, and at this point, the wet slap of contact between them is audible.

Rex jerks forward into Gatlocke's hand with a yelp, and that's the only notice they have before he's jizzing heavily into smooth, warm metal. His knees give completely and he twists in Gatlocke's grip-- and Rex wails, high and heatedly into the open night air.

There's a beat of silence. And soon after, shouts of communication between the guards in the area: "What the hell was that?" "Came from the roof!" "Head to the west end!" All of this among the backtrack of footfall on the move.

Rex recoils immediately. Flustered, he belatedly holds a hand to his mouth in shock while he shudders through the last stretch of his orgasm. Meanwhile, Gatlocke has the nerve to only stammer out a mere grunt when he comes. Surrounded on all fronts, Rex knows there's no way out of this without a fight; they're going to have to engage. So much for recon.

"White's gonna pissed," he mutters dazedly, and gasps when Gatlocke hurriedly pulls out.

Gatlocke pecks him on the cheek then, perhaps an apology. He's got one hand-- the one that had been up Rex's asshole-- forming a plasma blaster while the other-- the one that was still covered in Rex's cum-- is fixing up his pants. It reminds Rex to pull his own slacks back up and get himself together (even while Gatlocke's seed is still warm and dribbling down his thigh). All of it is so ludicrous that Rex can't help but laugh.

"But it cheered you up," Gatlocke notes.

Rex pauses. He's never unhappy about getting laid, and even if he got a do-over, he definitely wouldn't have said no. But what he'd been seeking wasn't sex. They always have sex. He wants more than that, though it doesn't seem like Gatlocke is even close to seeing anything beyond.

"Um. Yeah." is what Rex decides to say anyway, because he does feel a bit better for now at least, doped up with orgasm-begotten endorphins.

"Mh," Gatlocke responds, though there stays a furrow between his brows, and it looks like he might press the subject. Then, he tenses. "Six o' clock."

Rex ducks in time for Gatlocke to swing a cannon over the former's back to shoot at the security grunts closing in from behind him. Cursing under his breath, Rex fumbles with the zipper of his trousers as Gatlocke shields them from return fire with his red mimicry of the block party.

Despite the situation, there's relief mixing in with the new-found adrenaline of the oncoming clash, and Rex welcomes the return of his comfort-zone where he can just smash things until he feels better. He's eager to take his relationship woes quite violently out on these poor saps who chose the wrong side and once his pants are finally buttoned up, he nearly feels bad for them.

He and Gatlocke get pincered between hostiles as more guards seek them from twelve o' clock trajectory too, but Gatlocke still has use of a cannon to busy the vanguard assault while his shield defends their rear.

Amplifying the mood, Gat finds the time to make parody remarks even as they're being surrounded: "See, this happens every time I try to throw a party. I only invite a select few friends, and the next thing you know, the whole school shows up!"

"And the worst part?" Rex chimes in. He builds his bad axes and rushes the first wave for melee, leaving his fumbling emotions behind. "No one brought booze!"

Later, White does turn out to be pissed. Like, raging pissed. Which isn't a surprise considering the intel turned in is incomplete so essentially useless and anyway now invalid after Gatlocke and Rex burned through most the guards they'd documented. And what's more, the marks also know the authorities are onto them and very likely know exactly who is trying to take them down.

There aren't that many people out there who can build machines from their limbs, after all; and Rex has become a sort of face of Providence. The hunt is fucked from here on out.

"Now, now, let's stay within the silver lining," Gatlocke speaks up amidst White's furious reprimands. "Thanks to the efforts of Rex and myself, target defenses are practically non-existent, no?"

White Knight bans Gatlocke and Rex from pairing up for the remaining missions relating to Biggins and Smaller Baller, nonetheless.

But walking through Base to their room later that night, Gatlocke grasps his hand, lacing their fingers. It makes Rex's heart jump, although he's convinced it's a completely lame thing to do and he's not going to tell anyone about it. And that's all it takes for Rex feel better about everything White just made him (rightfully) feel like crap about.

He has a sense of hope that Gatlocke might actually love him in his own way. He wants it to be enough. He does.

And yet….

Rex tries to be subtle when he fishes for hints on what to do, how this works. Gatlocke and Circe are partnered up for tonight's mission (which is more or less a re-do of the job Gatlocke and Rex mucked up). So he takes the opportunity to drop in on Moss and the two end up lounging on the couch and watching TV per a quiet Saturday night in.

And Moss has always been the stoic, silent type, but he cuts right to the chase when he does speak. So he must have caught on to Rex's motive because he finally outright states that he was the one to first say the three words to Circe. He explains it took a while longer for Circe to return the sentiment. And Rex understands. Circe is reserved and guarded; she likes to be sure of things before opening herself up to be emotionally receptive.

In the case of himself and Gatlocke, though, Gat had always been the one who'd been more preoccupied with the relationship. Not that Rex wasn't happy or wasn't more proactive by choice-- it was just by the time he'd want more physical affection, quality time, or sex, Gatlocke would already be upon him and claiming it all without asking.

So, it's odd to finally crave, and to wonder about his partner's intentions.

"Why don't you just ask him about it?" Moss suggests, like it's just that easy.

He's standing in front of Rex with another cold beer, which surprises the latter, because he hadn't noticed Moss leaving the room to retrieve it in the first place. Moss seems to have expected as much, pushing the beer into Rex's hands before returning to his butt dent on the couch.

"That's a joke, right?" Rex shakes his head, shooting an incredulous look at the other. It feels like he's stating the obvious in saying, "I don't wanna seem all clingy and scare him away."

"Don't get our hopes up," Moss deadpans easily, since he can't be around Gatlocke for too long before he understandably loses patience. Still, he's only jesting, and it coats what he says next in the same lightheartedness. "Though, I kinda doubt something like that would send him on the run. Dude's basically over the moon for you."

Moss is a free agent. He has no loyalty to Providence, but oft times works with them since he has allegiance with Circe. Of course, the two will-- and have-- worked against each other. (How else would they have met?) However, they have since ceased putting the one another's life at certain risk-- unlike Gatlocke and Rex, who retain the tendency even while on the same side.

To Moss and Circe, a few flesh wounds are part of the fun, but a good lover is never a dead one.

To Gatlocke and Rex, a good lover is not one who can't keep themself alive, no matter who's firing at them.

There's more than a few differences between the two relationships, and Rex has never mulled them over before.

"I'll make an opening for him," Rex says finally, and feels a semblance of deja vu. He recalls saying something similar to Circe. "A way to broach the subject, y'know?"

Moss takes a swig off his bottle. For a while, it seems as if he's moved on from the topic, flipping between channels with a dull stare. But then, he chuckles. "Well, Circe tends to get all starry-eyed when I give her a good 'roll in ze hay'. Think that'll work for you?"

It has to be said, a man of Moss's caliber is definitely worthy of Circe.

This is Gatlocke they're talking about, so actually, that was kind of a perfect idea. Rex remembers the night on the roof, and the way Gatlocke's hand felt latched fast to his.

It may be the first time he initiates sex.

After all, Gatlocke is always the one who pounces him-- or otherwise, they just get the idea and seek one another out at the same time. Rex would be willing to take the starting move more often, too, if Gatlocke's libido wasn't already difficult to keep up with, much less beat to the punch.

Tonight, Rex has distance to use as an advantage to take position as the one who pulls the strings tonight. Gatlocke and Circe are back at the warehouse again, trying to infiltrate. Add the perk of modern-day technology and he's literally untouchable as he sets Gatlocke up for what-- Rex hopes-- will be the best sex of his life.

He gets things going like anyone else in his generation would: With a dick pic.

[Such a devil.] reads the response message, nearly immediately after Rex sends the photo. There's a devil emoji too, because Gatlocke is attached to the lame little cartoon images.

Rex grins. He can kind of get why Gatlocke likes to play the role of aggressor so frequently. [Want you~]

[Wait for me.] It's sent with plentiful heart emojis.

[Can't. You know how I get.] Rex snorts after pressing send. Sure, he's stark naked, and he's still got a bit of a woody going, but it was only for the photo and he's letting it soften back down so he can be ready and eager by the time Gatlocke does get back, rather than spent and lazy.

[Now, now, be a good boy.] It's worth noting that this time, Gatlocke sends no emojis.

Rex could do as he's told. Tonight is going to be about Gatlocke after all. But there's a challenge to be found in Gatlocke being frazzled for once, and fun to be had in screwing with his mind a bit.

It takes some odd positioning, but eventually he's able to prop up his phone at an angle that captures a decent view from his spread legs all the way up to his face, yet still within reach of his left hand to touch the capture button. His other hand, he lubes the fingers of generously, before opening himself up in the camera's view.

And crap, it feels good.... Which is good, because what's a good dirty picture without some authenticity? He snaps the capture, looking back at the camera with what he hopes is his best "fuck me" eyes, two fingers spreading his hole. And it's not above him to feel turned on by it.

He thinks about how Gatlocke scowls when he really gets going, how he bares his teeth and how he lowers his voice into a growl, and how the threat goes straight to Rex's dick and simultaneously up his spine. Rex makes a noise into the mattress, forcing in his fingers more roughly.

_As long as I don't touch my dick, I won't come_ , he tells himself, but it's awful in how hot he's getting, how hard he's getting.

It's great tumoil to stop himself, his hole hot and pulsing around his fingers and his cock leaking and twitching. He takes a breath to collect himself and forces himself to take his fingers out, groaning into the sheets. He hopes he got a decent photo out of all that....

He looks at his phone, grinding absent-mindedly into the bed for some relief.

Oh. Turns out he was taking a video. Even better!

Rex grins as he hits send.

He's in the middle of thinking thoughts that'll get rid of his erection-- _that oozy pus-evo, the bathroom at the dollar store, Smaller Baller's mugshot_ \-- when his phone chirps at him.

The text is short enough to fit within the notification on his lock screen: [STOP]

He bursts out laughing. Okay, he'll play nice. He still has to take care of his hard-on, though. A cold shower might help.

Except it doesn't, really.

Even after a literal 'solid' half hour of shivering under an icy tap, he remains... _solid_. Young adulthood drawbacks. He's so hard it hurts, but if he could make a claim to fame, it would be in his determination.... Unfortunately, one of his greatest weaknesses is self-control.

He wrestles with the duality as he pads back into the bedroom, and picks up his phone to see if he can distract himself until his boyfriend gets back.

Two new messages are waiting for him. But it's the one from Gatlocke that catches his eye.

[We're headed back now.]

…Wait. _What_?

He checks the timestamp…. Twenty minutes ago. So, they'd spent-- what? A half-hour onsite at most? A sinking feeling forms in Rex's stomach. And he hopes to any dear deity in power that Gatlocke didn't do what he thinks he just did. He and Gatlocke are in enough hot water as it is with White. He takes a breath, tries not to fall into the trap of jumping to conclusions. After all, they could have just coincidentally finished their recon early.

He goes to the second new message.

[I hate you.] from Circe.

And _oh, shit_. He responds to that one. [My bad!! I didn't think he'd throw the whole mission! I just wanted to make fun of him.] As an afterthought, Rex adds, [I'll take you out someplace nice.]

He taps his fingers, waiting on a response from her. He hadn't meant to get Circe dragged into trouble with the Knight, or for Gatlocke to put her in that position. But she knows how his relationship is going with Gatlocke, so he has a feeling she'll forgive him. Maybe.

At the starting note of his notification tone, he's immediately on his phone.

[As long as he doesn't ditch me to do the debrief on my own.] Circe replies, after a pause, and Rex had pictured her using that moment to collect herself and just sigh. Then, within the same minute: [He fucking did!!!] She also sends him multiple lines of emojis to express her height of rage.

Before Rex can think up something good to divert her anger, his phone starts ringing with _Say yeah~ Let's be alone together~_.

He answers, doesn't even have to speak before Gatlocke's exclaiming into the phone, winded.

-"I am literally running through HQ. What has gotten into you?"-

"Not you, so better hurry," Rex says, trying not to snicker at the panic in Gatlocke's voice. Almost immediately, his anxiety has dissipated. In his best fake porn star voice, he adds, "This feels _really_ good…."

The dry gulp in Gatlocke's pause is evident, as is the strain in his voice. -"Would it have killed you to wait?"-

"Would you risk finding out?"

A bark of laughter, but it's more haughty show than actual humor. -"At this point, I'm about to kill you myself."-

"That's how you always are," Rex responds easily. "You'd better be ready to fuck me first."

-"Oh, darling, _that's_ how I always am."- The call ends.

There it was, that tone of voice, guttural in the way it's uttered-- the one he uses when he's become Gatlocke, a pirate of the badlands, gang leader, a Madman, slitting open bodies like rice sacks and painting everything a sloppy, wet red. It raises Rex's gooseflesh, and also his cock. Because, well, it also happens to be Gatlocke's bedroom voice.

Rex leaps off the bed to meet him at the door as it opens, yanking him into the room to let it slide back shut almost immediately. He then goes about getting Gatlocke undressed-- unbuckling his belt, unfastening his cloak, pulling off his shirt.

Gatlocke is noticeably bewildered, but enthusiastic, touching and kissing Rex where he can as the latter strips him bare. He tries to gain the upper-hand once his clothes are strewn about the floor, since Rex usually lets him because the bastard is so fucking good at it, but Rex maintains himself, and pushes and pulls them towards the bed, until Gatlocke is falling backward upon it.

Before he can recover, Rex crawls over him, dick in hand as he pushes Gatlocke down. "Lay back. I wanna face-fuck you."

Gatlocke's eyes flick up to meet his. "Did you intend to finish in my mouth?"

"Nah." Rex tugs the other's hand, first to his mouth to run his mouth over it and get it wet, then down to his asshole. "I'd rather finish on your dick."

That wins him a wolfish grin full of teeth, and the expression sends Rex back to Gatlocke's feral days. Back when Gatlocke was still a 'bad guy'. Truth be told, he still is, but for now, he's commissioned under Providence, and moreover, he's Rex's. It feels like a true accomplishment considering the way Gatlocke takes Rex's cock into his mouth, like he'd longed for it all along.

He's forgotten how good Gatlocke was at this. Lately, they just skip to the screwing, and Rex was accustom to a metal hand on his junk, or simply jerking himself off. But Rex has obviously been missing out because neither compares to a soft, eager mouth on his cock.

Gatlocke sucks him off like his sole purpose in life is a throatful of Rex's cum. He takes him in deep, twisting his tongue against the sensitive underside of Rex's dick and pursing his lips tight around the head. Meanwhile he's got two fingers fucking Rex's asshole, moving in a pattern that has Rex throwing his head back and making embarrassingly loud noises at the ceiling.

It does Rex no favors the fact that he'd been working himself over earlier, too. He's ready to cum too quickly and it all has to stop before he blows.

" _Ffff_ \--! Okay, lay off--!" He tries to pull out, but finds Gatlocke sucking him harder, metal hands holding him down and pushing him back in, fingers insistently-- _deliciously_ \-- swirling inside of him. This isn't part of his plan at all. He's supposed to get Gatlocke to come first. "Gat-- no--"

But then, he's already coming hard, the sensation locking up his legs and flaring through the rest of his body, moving his hips and forcing his dick deeper down Gatlocke's throat. He gives in with a whine, moving his hips in a jerking rhythm to Gatlocke's hand as it fucks him.

He isn't even sure how he could keep coming so much, but Gatlocke swallows it all, and keeps swallowing. Until Rex's moans shallow out into heavy breathing, and he's shaking and slumping over onto the mattress because he doesn't have the strength to keep himself upright anymore. Embarrassed, he turns his face to pant into the sheets.

Gatlocke looms over him, licking the remaining white off his lips and looking absolutely predatory.

"Rain-check on the cowboy," Gatlocke says, running his wet erection along Rex's crack. "I really just need to rut into you right now."

The entire length is in with a single forced shove and Rex yelps sharply, biting his lip and grasping the sheets once Gatlocke begins sliding his cock in strong, slow thrusts.

His asshole's been played with and lubed up enough that he just takes it all in easily and feels like a cock slut, a fucktoy, an easy little whore that Gatlocke comes home and dumps his cum into. It's especially vivid to him now that Gatlocke still smells freshly of work-- like outdoors and asphalt and sweat-- and then Rex's thoughts skip to recall of the night on the rooftop during their stake-out together. The thought makes him whimper hoarsely, and just like that, he's getting hard.

"You're gonna come again." There's a mirthful tint to Gatlocke's breath.

Rex shudders, shakes his head. "No."

This time, Gatlocke's laughter is unmistakable. "I'm gonna _make_ you come again."

"Gat-- mmh--" His mouth is taken by Gatlocke's.

The other man pulls away just as abruptly, and suddenly Rex finds himself being turned over onto his side. He blinks at Gatlocke's appreciative hum at the new position.

"You wanted to finish like this originally, right?" The other's voice is filled with breathless delight. "With me inside you?"

It sounds ambitious-- even with a boner, he just feels entirely too raw to get anywhere beyond where he already is, and any pleasure comes with the shadow of pain behind it, the precise blend of Gatlocke's presence embodied in the conflict of sensations.

But then Gatlocke starts rutting savagely into him in such a way that Rex sees flashes of multicolor behind his eyelids. He could have been more worried, but well, it's been a while since he's been taken so roughly, uncaringly, and it feels too fucking _good_. Gatlocke's got a hand on his dick, flowing with the pace of the thrusts, and Rex gives in; he's going to come.

Gatlocke finishes first with a heavy moan, thrusting so deep that Rex cries out from the pain of it. But it's that, coupled with Gatlocke's hand twisting at the wrist and squeezing his cock at the perfect, sweetest angle that sends him plummeting over the edge after him.

This is how he comes again, with a crippling burst of liquid shocks combing through his system; he exhales tight from his chest as Gatlocke tugs this orgasm out of him while lapping the noises from his mouth and harmonizing with them at the same time.

And then, Rex is limp, practically mindless, barely aware of Gatlocke pulling out and collapsing in a heap partly atop him, or the hot cum leaking out of his rear, or Gatlocke's lips skimming over his skin. He doesn't know he's asleep until he is. He just feels warm, boneless, and at the far reach of his consciousness, registers Gatlocke tousling his hair and chortling warm against his ear.

The following morning in the shower, Rex is feeling pretty good. His ass is sore as hell, and on that note, a handful of muscles on his body are aching, but he takes both as positive feedback from the previous night.

Because, fuck, it was great, wasn't it?

Just the memory is enough to work him into a shiver, smiling stupidly and pushing his flushed face into his palms.

Gatlocke takes that moment to strut in, looking the way Rex feels. They both just kind of eye each other and quirk their eyebrows and grin slyly, and all that's missing is an obnoxious chest bump between them as testament to their mutual immaturity.

But when Gatlocke opens the shower door, his expressions turns solemn. And while it's a given that he's not anywhere above lecherous stares, this time is unique in that his gaze stays on Rex's face. Rex catches the altered mood, looking back at him and wondering what's wrong. Then, it hits him that this might be it, that his hard work's paid off. Gatlocke's about to say it. _It_.

_Finally_!

It takes all of Rex's effort to reign in his eagerness, because he can picture it, but he can't imagine it, but it's here, but it's far off. He can hear it in Gatlocke's voice, feel it in Gatlocke's next breath.

_I love you. I love you. I love you._

The corner of Gatlocke's lips lifts slightly.

"I--"

Rex holds his breath. His heart trembles erratically.

"--want you," Gatlocke says, "tied up tonight."

And Rex is so utterly crestfallen that he barely registers the last part.

"Oh. Cool," he responds, trying to not to let on anything of his extreme disappointment. There's embarrassment, as well, for getting such high hopes up. For thinking he could get Gatlocke to care about him to that extent. For assuming their relationship would ever be-- normal? Nurturing? Romantic?-- like Moss and Circe-- like… _that_. "Sure thing."

He's done with his shower. So when Gatlocke steps in, Rex moves past him to step out, evading eye contact entirely. Of course Gatlocke catches him by the arm, eyeing him curiously. They've made a habit of showering together every morning, so the puzzlement is overlaid with a tint of surprise.

"You good?"

_No._ "Yeah. Awesome." _Not even close._

Unfortunately, Gatlocke picks up on everything Rex hopes he'd drop. He regards the young man with a frown, pursing his lips in concentration; it almost seem like he's concerned, even though Gatlocke doesn't really get concerned. Or if he does, he doesn't normally show it. Or show it as a normal person would.

"I got rather eager last night, and forgot to keep myself in check," Gatlocke admits, which is uncharacteristically sweet of him, but _jesus christ, it's so off the mark_ and Rex can't deal with anymore of this. "If I hurt you--"

Rex shakes his arm from Gatlocke's grasp. "I'm fine." He leaves, toweling off quickly and getting dressed just as fast. He avoids Gatlocke for the rest of the day. He tells himself he needs time to think and digest, but he's really just not ready to look Gatlocke in the eye again and pretend everything is still completely fine at this point.

He's late to the briefing scheduled that afternoon.

The rough sex from the previous night already had him lethargic and aching, but now he's completely drained, having just pommeled mountainside with his smack hands for the past few hours in a futile attempt to destroy all his emotional baggage in one go. But it turns out to have been rougher on him than what it felt like at the time; the exhaustion aches assaulting him are bone-deep now, whereas before they'd only lingered in his muscles.

Rex plods into the conference room, dusted and caked with soil from his morning 'exercise'. He's careful not to seize eyelock with anyone but White Knight to avoid unwanted questioning since he's not in the mood to talk to anyone about really anything. And still, from his periphery, he catches Gatlocke and Circe exchanging stunned glances, and he's able to tell what they'd be saying if they used words rather than looks.

Circe juts her chin belligerently at Gatlocke. _Um, what the hell is this about?_

Gatlocke shakes his head and waves his hands theatrically. _Don't look at me!_

Circe's eyes narrow and her eyebrows furrow. _I will look at you for as long as Rex looks like that because I did not debrief White by myself-- about a mission YOU botched up-- for this bullshit._

Rex distracts himself with White's expression, which thankfully reads as a less-confrontational cross between _I don't give enough of a fuck to ask_ and _I hate you all_ , as he continues on with the briefing.

So, the potential marks aren't yet the wiser of Providence activity ever since Circe and Gatlocke have partnered up for the duo missions. A couple more recons and they can move in.

Sure, the intel White has is technically flawed, but Rex isn't about to out Circe. She should be commended for her ability to pass off an incomplete recon as a full report. Plus, the targets are low-level crime lords. Rex bets he could take them on with his eyes closed, though he hopes he won't have to-- he's awfully drained. He wants to sleep, _alone_ on that note.

"--Rex," White finishes.

Rex looks up uncertainly. "Huh?"

White's lips press together and there's a strain to the muscles in his neck, but he offers synopsis of everything he'd just said, slowly: "Sneak into the warehouse. Take note of the equipment in possession. Solo recon."

"Oh. Got it."

There's a heavy pause, and once again, Rex is highly aware that White isn't the only one staring at him.

"Really?" White leans forward, eyeing him incredulously. "Despite it being a friday night?"

Ah, right. He'd missed his cue to throw the usual "but it's the WEEKEND!" fit.

"I got nothing better to do," Rex says, and can only think about how good it'll feel when he crawls into bed after the mission is over. It strikes him then that actually, he did sort of have plans; Gatlocke told him he wanted to tie him up. It works out that he really isn't feeling up to it, and now he doesn't even have to confront Gatlocke himself to cancel.

"Well, that's a rarity." White still looks nonplussed, and almost suspicious as he regards Rex like he's expecting him to retract the statement at any moment. "Hop to it then, Agent Rex."

Gatlocke doesn't say anything. Not that Rex had expected him to. Okay, that's a lie-- he had the hope that maybe Gatlocke would have spoken up, and told him not to do it, or something along those lines-- similar to how Moss will sometimes protest when Circe works solo (which she does frequently, as it's her preference).

And yes, of course, Rex is practically made of steel and much better suited to the job than anyone else, and it actually is more efficient for him to go it solo rather than utilize two agents to cover each other. But still. A little concern would have been nice. It would have made him feel cared about, maybe lov-- well, you know.

But Gatlocke doesn't make a peep. Not even in protest to his bondage session being put on the back-burner.

Rex averts his gaze from the man, not looking anywhere even near him for the rest of the briefing. Once dismissed, he walks out, keeping his eyes straight ahead and nowhere else.

What Rex doesn't catch in all his elusion, however, is the long, perplexed stare Gatlocke casts him as he walks away.

He's still feels thoroughly trashed once he arrives at the warehouse, the thought of bed never so tantalizing in his mind. Part of him just wants to bullshit the intel-- this gig was low-threat from the very start after all-- and he feels like mashed dead-weight at this point, both physically and mentally.

Not to mention emotionally.

But he curves away from that trail of thought. As much as he can, anyway. He's trying to process it rationally.

Gatlocke doesn't pull punches. He does what he wants. His actions are a direct reflection of his thoughts. And if he doesn't want to do something-- doesn't want to _say_ something-- he won't. It's simple. Rex knows this. Rex knows.

-"Point of entry?"- White Knight's voice cuts into his thoughts like a buzzing fucking fly. He's insisted on micromanaging Rex for this missiong, which Rex can't even blame him for.

It's not going to change his status quo of borderline insubordination, though. "Walked in through the front."

-"You _what_?"-

"Chill, White. There's no one here. Like, literally. The lights aren't even on."

-"And it's going to stay that way."-

"Yeah, no duh! It's not exactly my debut here, boss."

-"Hard to tell with how many screw-ups you and those other two have managed as of late."- Before Rex can retort, White speaks again. -"Any signs of high-priority personnel?"-

"No one here tends to mean that _no one's_ here. Smaller Baller or Biggins included."

-"Stop calling them that."-

White has every reason to be so stressed, with as much as Rex has contributed to botching up this case before. What would've been a matter of a few days has been drawn out to weeks and a upgraded rank in threat level.

Then-- as if right on cue, the warehouse lights flicker on. Rex stumbles back, blinking through the glaring blight of industrial-sized search lights trained on him. It's enough to catch him off guard, and that's what immediately puts Rex on guard.

He was made. He commlinks White, quickly.

"White, they _knew_!"

It's not before something is launched at him-- tearing the air and cracking into the floor where he was before he leapt sideways. He rolls to the floor, and catches sight of the projectile before it reeled back. _Some kind of harpoon?_

As his eyes adjust, he sees both Smaller Baller and Biggins on scene, with a group of their very heavily-armed lackeys behind the cannon/harpoon device.

" _Again_!" Smaller Baller screeches, practically foaming at the mouth. Rex always figured him for the more unhinged between him and Biggins.... "I want the little asswipe _dead_ for this mess!"

White's voice rings in his ear, level but terse. -"Status me, hot-shot."-

"It's grim," Rex grits out scornfully. "Could use some back-up-- _mierda_!"

The next blow catches enough flesh that he hears the tear-- startlingly loud-- and his mind lights up with dread when he watches the stretch of red splatter reach too far across the floor as the harpoon rears back. He's only able to stumble out of range as machine gunfire falls around him.

His hands immediately fall to the wound on his thigh and feel the damage as he flops behind the nearest cover (one of the metal crates-- good, bulletproof), and he has to will himself from alarm when he finds the skin gaping open and his fingers pressing against softness, gooeyness. He resolves to keep his hands in place more to keep his leg from falling totally open, rather than staunch any bleeding. Already, enough blood has run down his leg, pooling around his body and curling about his movements like a bridal veil.

They'd gone for the kill; they'd planned the ambush down to the weapon aim and Rex's position. They plotted this set up ever since they found out exactly who and what he is. Even as they begun firing the normal ammo, he had spotted two of the men readying the harpoon for a second shoot.

-" _Rex_."- White sounds stressed, but Rex is too overcome with the surrealism of the situation to quip about it. -"Do you have a means for escape?"-

"I--" Rex tries to build his boogie pack, but ends up hacking up a gob of what he first thinks is spit, until it spills out dark on his hands and dribbles onto the floor in vivid color. "I'm losing a shit ton of blood…gimme a sec."

He doesn't ask about back-up again. The first time, he'd only been kidding. This was supposed to be a quick stealth mission in non-hostile territory, and any of them were supposed to be more than capable of handling this if it had gone according to plan. The thought of say, Circe, being trapped here in his stead only steels his resolve that he made the right choice to insist on taking the job. There would be no one coming for him. And by the time someone would--

Rex flinches as a huge chunk of pillar is ripped out, barely missing his head. A smaller piece scrapes his temple as the harpoon sails past and lodges into the wall across from him. Rex barely has any time to build a crap of a punk buster to push himself out of vicinity before the harpoon pulls the wall out, yanks it back crashing into the pillar, leaving a broad hole in the side of the building.

There's a mysterious lack of gunfire coming at him as Rex crawls across the floor as exposed as he is, but he's not ungrateful. He fits into the precarious gap between where the wall had fallen into the pillar, keeps crawling into the debris until shadows cover him entirely. But at this point, he's too disoriented to feel relief. He tries to peel his shirt up, get a better look at exactly how screwed he is.

"Ow…."

The wound is deep, and gnarly so that Rex only catches a glimpse before he looks away and pulls his shirt back down. He leans gingerly until he's laying on his back, breathing shallowly to avoid disturbing the large, leaking rip in his body. Still, he's relieved to feel the wound pulling itself closed, albeit slowly, and see the familiar blue glow: his nanites at work.

"Take it away, little guys," Rex mumbles.

He relaxes, blinking at crease between the floor and wall as it unfocuses, and refocuses again. In the back of his mind, he can process the entire building shaking around him from the stress of the fight.

It eases him away, to someplace deep enough to rest.

He awakes in the dark with a spike of residual panic, coughing on the coagulated blood coating his throat, pinned down, and blinking into the dim lightning and pushing away at the darkness or whatever's out there. There's shocks of pain radiating from his left leg but he still tries to move--

"Rex," Gatlocke says, and he sounds startled. His voice comes from somewhere above and behind.

"Gat?" Rex doesn't mean for it to, but it comes out as a question due to his disorientation. It comes out pitifully weak due to the pain. His head spins and he has to shut his eyes. "When'd you…?"

"You're alright," Gatlocke tells him, and it's like he's saying so for himself just as much. He lets out a shaky breath, but after that, his voice becomes sure. "I followed after you. I meant to speak with you after the mission was finished, but then…." A brief silence descends and Rex begins to really take in the partially destroyed warehouse-- moreover, he's aware of the silence itself. Gatlocke concludes, "In any case, you're welcome."

"Are they all dead?" Rex asks groggily, because everyone on the other side of the fallen wall is quiet enough to be, and because the air is thick with blood scent. Even if he contributed, it's too much for him to claim the whole of it and still be alive.

"I hope so," Gatlocke replies blithely. "Ambush for an ambush-- fair enough, no? They were so onto you, they didn't notice me hacking down each person behind them, and by the time they got smart, I'd made it to the front. Providence can patch up any carcass still daring to breathe, if there's half a darn to spare for these saps." There's an odd bite to his rambling, like he's agitated.

_A 'yes' would've worked._ But Rex holds his tongue. He's too tired, too muddled in the head, and in too much pain to get into verbal pass-back with Gatlocke right now.

He shouldn't have had to ask. There are times that Gatlocke just drops his last fuck and has at it. This turned out to be one of those times.

So not only has he messed up the mission, but Gatlocke turned it into a massacre. Worse still, Rex can't bring himself to care all that much, attention taken by the ragged split in his side. Or maybe he's just desensitized to Gatlocke's avocations at this point.

He blinks, trying his vision again. But the lighting is too dim to focus on anything.

From what he can gander, they're secluded behind a piece of machinery. The caved wall and fallen pillar form a debris pile in front of them. Anything else (i.e., the bloodbath) is on the other side of their slapdash barricade. One of the lights-- one of the few that remain powered, at least-- dangles from the ceiling, blinking weakly. The warehouse, in short, is wrecked.

There's a couple of heavy weights set on top of him. They almost feel like heated rocks, and that's when he makes out that they're actually Gatlocke's mechanical arms.

Like this, Rex is able to inhale fully and finds his boyfriend's scent in the musk of the air, warm relief lulling his anxiety away. It would appear he's laying back, propped up against Gatlocke's torso. Gatlocke's cloak is covering them like a blanket, particularly bunched against his wound. As far as Rex is able to tell, his nanites have already gotten to work stabilizing him, and keeping infection at bay while patching the shoreline edges of the injury closer together.

He's really cold.

_That's the bloodloss,_ he reminds himself, using reason to take off some of the brunt of discomfort.

He turns his head so that his cheek rests flat against Gatlocke's chest. The man feels like a soft radiator underneath him, and Gatlocke's arms emulate the same effect-- hot even through the cloak. As if aware of Rex's ruminations, Gatlocke's body shifts slightly, and one of his hands moves up to cover Rex's exposed neck. Rex sighs in contentment, too spent to be too passionate about anything else.

Better than dead, at least. He's alive, after all. But it's another fuck-up on his part, exacerbated by Gatlocke's involvement. And his gut is unsettled by the thought of their organization head.

Warily, he asks, "What'd White have to say?"

"Wouldn't know. Haven't reported 'officially' yet. I s'pose I was too consumed with trying to pull some brat back from across the Styx." Gatlocke sounds especially sullen when he says all this. Then, his voice gains edge. "How dare you, by the way."

Rex doesn't keep his response in check. "Wow, so you actually broke a sweat over me." It's a facetious jab, but the memory of Gatlocke not saying anything as Rex left for the mission still stings fresh in his mind and he dreads the answer nonetheless.

However, Gatlocke makes a choked noise kind of like a laugh, though it sounds too pained to be mirthful. "I happen to _like_ this thing between us. I happen to like _you_. You're--"

Rex yelps in surprise as metal hands reach his face and tip it upwards, so that he's eye-to-eye with Gatlocke. The other's expression is unreadable, and practically foreign in that there's no smile to be found on his usually jovial face. Rex almost wants to look away to gain break from the unsettling look in Gatlocke's eyes, but the other's hands lock him in place.

Gatlocke's voice is low, tense, when he speaks again. "What do you think I take you for, anyway?"

"I…." But Rex's throat becomes too thick for him to breathe, as every one of his accumulating doubts resurface all at once in that instant.

Gatlocke doesn't even wait for him to try again. "I _love_ you."

What little remains of Rex's breath is gone in a _whoosh_ , and it's like his feet would have been knocked from under him if he weren't already laying down. Like he's in danger of slipping out from the grasp of metal arms and floating into space, pinned down only by Gatlocke's piercing stare. And Gatlocke just looks at him, as if daring him to challenge the thought-- just like Rex has been doing all this time. And now Rex knows exactly what an idiot feels like.

"Well, I just...," Rex begins, but his voice shrinks away as his awareness grows that he's exposed and under scrutiny. But Gatlocke keeps staring, holding out for completion this time. And Rex's voice comes out meeker than he'll ever admit: "I love you, too." As the overwhelming delight twines with physical exhaustion, the result is nausea; he has to shut his eyes, but grins all the same. "Like, hella."

Gatlocke sighs, and appears exasperated, yet happy at the same time. He makes a final brief hum of what might be approval, then the penetrating gaze is gone as he opts to nuzzle his beard against Rex's temple.

But Rex's heart pounds fiercely still, and his chest feels too full to allow any proper intake of breath. He feels light and jittery. He's not sure if it's from his injury or if he's just that freaking ecstatic that Gatlocke…Gatlocke just said that he loves him.

As if on cue, the arms around Rex tighten slightly, and hoist him upwards. Rex gasps at the shock of pain that floods his torso, but it's soothed over with the forward tilt of Gatlocke's chin coming to rest on his shoulder. A metal hand curls up to press cloak against wet rip in his side as a, Rex guesses, soothing gesture.

"I waited on purpose, you know," Gatlocke murmurs then. "All this time, it's been me pushing the 'us' part forward. I wanted to give you room enough to make your own move, for once."

"I thought--" And Rex feels stupid because only now does he realize that Gatlocke knew about everything and had just been expecting Rex to act more maturely about it. Rex feels _really_ stupid. "I thought since you were the one who took all the first steps with everything else, you'd wanna be the first one for this, too. So _I_ waited, for you. Actually, I never really thought about it until--"

"Until Circe and her fellow got on with the sweet nothings." Gatlocke snorts, and Rex is immediately ashamed of the transparency of his behavior. "Honestly, you could've just came out and said something. I'm quite flattered by how highly you think of me, but not even _my_ wit is omniscient."

Oddly, he sounds regretful about that last fact. He _looks_ miserable about it as well, actually, Rex notes when he glances up. Although, the reason behind that could just be because his eyes are on a particularly large congealed pool of Rex's blood a few feet away. And Rex knows it's his because of the thick, brush-like scrape of a trail that leads from it to where he and Gatlocke are.

"There are other, albeit blander, ways to win my attention," Gatlocke mutters on.

Rex reaches up, notices how his hand trembles from that simple effort. But he manages to curve his fingers against the line of Gatlocke's jaw. "I'm really sorry," he says, and tries to sound as earnest as possible.

Gatlocke's eyes dart to him then, and his expression softens. He clasps Rex's hand in his own, kisses the thumb mound and then goes to press his mouth against Rex's temple, too. "So long as you are."

"Once I retire, that's my ticket out of this shitfest, forever," White grumbles into his hands. "I don't want any visits or sent regards, unless it's news that one of you died so I can feel better about the state of the world."

It's only while his face in his palms that Rex and Gatlocke dare to exchange the bursting grins they've been containing all this time; even Circe has her own smile prying free, watching their dynamic from the corner of her eye. Really, it's all relief that they actually made it through, coupled with the embarrassment that they actually messed up so bad. In the sole case of Rex: he's fully alert now, and absolutely tickled at the fact they'd finally made it to the 'magical three words' stage, and he knows it's absolutely silly.

On top of that, the image of White on the screen being too put-out to even scream at them is all too great. Rex is stuck in a bed in the base infirmary, so that's where the debrief takes place, with White's screen lowered from the ceiling of the room. Even though they had worked in various permutations of partnerships during the mission, all three of them are involved, so it works that both Gatlocke and Circe are at Rex's bedside at the time.

A gruff sigh tells them to resume poker face as White looks back up with a tired glare. "The good news is the bounty was Dead-or-Alive, so there's that, at the very least. Maybe next time you'll have learned not to be so careless while on duty, especially on recon, lest we send in another agent with several thumbs up their ass into nearly fatal situations."

"No, that would require an agent with at least one extra thumb," Gatlocke snarks, and Rex's obnoxious snort behind his hands cannot be conspicuous enough.

White glowers down at them. "On second thought, the day I retire and go permanently off the grid is the day I kill all of you by my own hands, starting with whom has the most ridiculous hair."

Circe quickly assumes the role of diplomat from that point, responding for all of them, presenting silver lining where there really isn't, and making everything sound better than it is. Next to her, Gatlocke and Rex can't be trusted to speak anymore, and they would be the ones White probably wanted to hear from the least.

At the end of it, Circe's still trying to act like she's just as utterly done with their stupidity as White, but there's a bounce to her step as the screen retracts back to its resting spot in the corner of the room.

Her gaze darts between her two coworkers, eyebrow raised at the chemistry between them. "I take it you guys sorted it out?"

"Ask this troublemaker," Gatlocke says, and even though he's got his default grin, the tugging on Rex's cheek isn't painless.

Rex lets him, even though the pulling is moving him from his laying position and causing pain spark up in his side as well. He basically deserves it. "Yeah, I-- _ow_ \-- still kinda owe him…."

"And, troublemaker, what are you figuring for fair repayment?" His boyfriend's eyes glint.

Rex returns the look with an impish smile of his own. "You wanted me tied up, right?"

Circe tosses up her hands, turning away. "Leaving."

Full recovery takes two weeks-- a miraculous record for a normal human, yet a bit on the long-term side for Rex's batch of nanites-- and then Gatlocke gets his wish.

Rex had found out early on in the relationship Gatlocke is into things like that, although the combination of both their impatience doesn't allow for very frequent play. Tonight, though, Rex is compliant for once; he wants to be good, needs to feel Gatlocke's approval. So here he is, totally bare, hands bound, on all fours on while getting spanked atop their bed.

The rope around his wrists twist and pinch his skin, folding his arms awkwardly and giving him more trouble in supporting his position. Gatlocke isn't even going easy-- each slap echoes sharply against their room's walls, and Rex's ass is needly numb and yet harkens to each prior layer of impact for every time Gatlocke's mental hand strikes. He's supposed to apologize after every hit, but he's closing in on his limit.

Gatlocke's almost fully nude as well, sans for a pair of black jeans: the ones that Rex just loves on him. They're so fitted that when pulled up, they accentuate Gatlocke's ass so that Rex can barely keep his hands off it-- he loves cupping and squeezing it when they make out. And when flayed open, exposing Gatlocke's thick hard-on, they're tight enough that they stay upright, even when unzipped and unbuttoned and god, Rex just wants to suck Gatlocke off to get him slick, and then turn around and get fucked for days.

But Gatlocke completely runs the show tonight. It's not beyond Rex to comprehend a metal hand pressed firmly against the scar tissue of his side where his organs were recently exposed, or that for Gatlocke it would remain recent for a long time.

"S-sorry!" Rex gasps, toes curling from the shatter of pain from his rear end.

"Funny, I'm just not seeing it." Gatlocke's voice is flat. "How does it feel being doubted so persistently, by the way? Despite how earnest you truly are."

And _yeowch_. That was a deep dig. But he deserves it. Still, he yells out louder from this blow than from the others before it. He can pretend it's adrenaline and physical reaction making him tear up and hides his face in the bedsheets so Gatlocke won't see, but realizes it's a mistake the instant Gatlocke takes his hair and twists so that his expression is visible again.

"Someone's misbehaving~" Gatlocke sings, and spanks him again.

The bite of impact makes Rex sucks in a sharp breath, and he flinches horribly, but Gatlocke's grip on him reminds him not to deviate too far from his current position. He shudders.

"Sorry," he manages to whisper, and sheds his tears openly now.

But Gatlocke doesn't look anywhere close to appeased. He heaves Rex's hips into a higher position, ass in the air, knees pulled apart.

And this time, when the blow lands, it comes in low, low enough to strike the part of his ass that tapers off into thigh. With Rex's legs spread the way they are, it's hard metal swinging headlong into his ballsack.

Rex all but screams.

They've talked about this before, and it had gotten Rex a bit stiff just mulling over it, but actually having it done has turned out to be not as nearly as pleasurable. He realizes it's not even an erotic hurt. It's glaring, and gut-wrenching, and locks him in a tunneled vice where it's only him and the amount of pain he's in like he's being buried alive in it.

A spasm courses through his body and he can't do anything besides flex his fingers and curl his toes through it.

A hand on his back. "Breathe, Rexy."

Rex forces himself to, but stutters on the breaths. He can't even bring himself to utter another apology. His immediate thought is to safeword, but he reigns it in.

There's a long pause between them, long enough for Rex to voice opinion if he wanted. And Rex knows Gatlocke's watching him closely, trying to work out how far he can really push, where Rex's limit may be, and if he should stop. _Not here_ , Rex thinks, determined. _Not now._ In this moment, he wants Gatlocke to know he's his. And he's sorry. And he wants to make it up to him. Make it good for him.

Then, the second blow comes.

The yawp that rips out of Rex doesn't even register in his mind as his own. There's only the blaring white agony in his groin, sending a shock of spasms through his nerves that he tries to endure by twisting his limbs. More tears leak onto the sheets, but all his embarrassment is flooded out by the pain.

There is no way he can take another. He needs to safeword. He opens his mouth…

…and moans tightly as two lubed fingers enter his arse. It takes one smooth motion, and Rex is flat on his chest with his ass arched up, sobbing in relief, in pleasure. Even with hurt raw in his balls and his asscheeks bruised numb, all it takes is two fingers in the ass for his dick to start getting hard again.

It does not go without Gatlocke's notice, and he starts moving his hand into and outward, and into once more. The patterns his fingers trace vary from small, quick circle motions to large, languid ones, making Rex squirm and shut his eyes because it feels like being soaked in liquid bliss.

"Gat! Oh, fuck-- Gat-- _please_ \--"

Gatlocke's fingers don't stop moving. "You want to get 'fucked', Rexy?" His free hand slides down the other's body to pinch a nipple.

A dirty moan crawls out of Rex before Gatlocke is even finished speaking, and it could either be from the curl of Gatlocke's fingers then, or the way Gatlocke's mouth fits around the word "fucked", like he's letting an unsavory taste fall from his tongue. Gatlocke detests cursing and rarely resorts to it, and it's for that reason that it turns Rex on so much, and it's for _that_ reason that Gatlocke has recently picked up the habit during intimate moments. And now, Rex is so hard again that his dick is hurting as much as his ballsack.

Gatlocke repeats himself, but this time, there's no question about it. His voice lowers to a whisper. "You want to get _fucked_."

"God, yeah," Rex whines, and he heaves his hips to no avail; Gatlocke maintains a leisurely, torturous pace. "I want to so bad right now. I'm sorry. Gat. Sorry, sorry, sorry."

"Mmh," says Gatlocke, plucking his fingers out. He chuckles at the shiver that runs down Rex's back. "So high-maint. But, it's in your luck that I'm a smidge pent at this point. Looks like your selfishness comes convenient every so often."

As he speaks, he turns Rex over so that the latter is on his back, and joins him on the bed in a kneel. Rex's face is flushed red: a wet mess of sweat, tears, and drool. Upon looking him over, Gatlocke's expression turns dark, hungry. The corner of his mouth curls into an almost snarl, and it's the last Rex sees of it before it's biting into his own.

The kiss is more like a snare, suffocating him, making raw of his lips, and it hurts but keeps his dick rigidly swollen and wetted at the tip. He likes this side of Gatlocke, how the danger of being with a madman follows them even into bed. By the time Gatlocke pulls away, his mouth feels like it's burning and he still wants more.

Rex gasps for breath, and exhales dizzily one more weak "sorry," but Gatlocke kisses him again, gentler this time.

"Shush. Enough of that. We're done with that."

It happens in one quick motion: Gatlocke's blades come out and easily cut through Rex's bindings in the same blink it takes for them to retract. and his hands are free, although his arms are still stiff. Gatlocke kisses him again, deeper, but gentler as well, massaging the knots out of Rex's muscles.

"It's just you and me now," Gatlocke tells him in that same low, lulling voice like physical touch isn't enough, like he wants to wrap Rex in his words, too.

His hand slides over Rex's chest, down his stomach, detours teasingly around his partner's erection, and rests upon the other's thigh. Rex, in frustration whines, and stares at him accusingly with half-dazed, still-teary eyes.

"Cripes, Rexy," Gatlocke chuckles, and aside from his smile it's almost as if his expression is pained. "All I _need_ is you and me."

And Rex can't be sorry enough. "I know that."

He grasps Gatlocke's face, pulls him down and Gatlocke thinks he wants another kiss, only Rex pulls him down slightly lower and kisses him on the forehead instead. He takes Gatlocke's compliance as a good sign.

"It's okay. I _know_." He swallows. "And...you can hit me in the balls some more if you want."

Gatlocke snorts. "You really shouldn't tempt me." He snatches the open bottle of lube off the nightstand, coating the length of his dick with a generous portion.

And Rex wants to say it's not a tempt, it's a promise, and that he'll apologize for real once they're finished. But by then, Gatlocke's cock is pushing into him, grazing against that sweet spot-- and Rex has always been selfish. He whines. The pleasure overcomes his need to speak, and his first instinct is to get off.

"No, keep your arms around me," Gatlocke murmurs when Rex reaches for his own dick.

Rex obeys reluctantly. But he doesn't regret when Gatlocke is balls-deep inside him, when Gatlocke starts rolling his hips, when he finds a steady rhythm. Rex throws back his head, lost in the feeling, arching his back up so that his cock reaps friction from the glide of Gatlocke's stomach.

"You're too cute," Gatlocke pants. "All wound up. And frustrated. And _hurt_."

He reaches down, nipping some of the bruised flesh of Rex's ass between his thumb and forefinger, and rolls the skin into itself so that it burns horribly, the sensation intensified with every thrust. Rex yells out, clutching him, burying his face in Gatlocke's neck.

"It serves you right and you know it. Don't you?"

" _Yes_ ," Rex groans, and feels like he might start crying again.

"I know, you're sorry. I just-- I'm not _trying_ to punish you anymore. I just like seeing you this way. I _really_ like seeing you this way--"

Gatlocke pauses, and his movements ease to a halt. Rex is too consumed in catching his breath and relishing in the relief of it to question it. His arms ache, but he keeps them on Gatlocke's shoulders, hinged against the metal since they'd kept slipping on the sweat of Gatlocke's neck.

"Is that why…you thought I didn't...," Gatlocke trails off, like an idea has just dawned on him. His face contorts. "Rexy, _no_."

Rex feels the kisses spill across his face, each one butterfly soft and sweet as dawn light. And there's something about the deliberateness of each time Gatlocke's lips brush against the sweat dewing on Rex's skin, about how his steel hands run through his hair and pull him close (pull himself _in_ ), about Gatlocke's mouth finding Rex's again at the end of it-- coming home-- as if to feed off the latter's building moans.

It's everything that Rex never knew how to ask for.

"I'm sorry, too," Gatlocke says, soft into Rex's ear.

But he has nothing to be sorry for. Everything was all Rex. Rex should've said something sooner, Rex shouldn't have put so much strain on their relationship--

He wants to say all this, but his mind's spinning, his heart's fluttering, his body's too hot, and his dick's too hard.

"Please," he just begs, moving Gatlocke's hand to his groin.

Gatlocke gives him what he wants, jerks him fast with a swiveling grasp, angles and grinds into that one sick _spot_ inside Rex, and Rex starts arching back and crying out, shudders violently and clings to him, bucks his hips in rhythm with Gatlocke's and calls his name, urging him.

Gatlocke breathes, " _I love you_ ~"

Rex is so startled from the orgasm that jolts up his spine, he chokes on the wail that spills out-- and then he's just coming all over himself, twisting from the waist up as Gatlocke grasps him hard enough to bruise by the hips and holds him down as his own movements become haphazard.

" _Gat_ ," Rex bites out, dazed and sensitive, and-- at long last-- getting fucked hard, like he's used to.

Gatlocke echoes the sentiment with a heavy, heated groan in Rex's ear. Rex feels the cum brim in his ass and wraps his arms tight around Gatlocke as the latter sinks into him hard and tense, before exhaling and relaxing in Rex's hold. He presses a firm, tired kiss to Rex's neck.

"…going to make certain you know how much you mean to me, make certain you know each and every day--"

"Love you, too," Rex exhales, hands treading through Gatlocke's hair, and he feels like he can't get much higher.

Gatlocke chuckles, but there's a breathlessness about the sound that Rex takes certain pride in, that tells him everything he ever needed to hear, ever will need to hear. And tangled with this sweaty heap of a man, he doesn't understand why he put so much stock into what few words were left unsaid in the first place.


End file.
